


The snow her body melts

by SonataForMyOverdosedLover



Series: And in her arms he'd kill the Maker, each time, a little more [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, a story depicted in moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonataForMyOverdosedLover/pseuds/SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have paid attention to her words but he'd only remember the drops of snow caught in her hair. He knew he should have objected to her claim and if there was a reason for why he hadn't, now it was too late to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The snow her body melts

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of moments, words, gestures, glances and touches. It might have crossed Varric's mind to get some fresh inspiration for a new novel but truth being told they made no good story. In order to write a story you need a strong beginning, a happy middle, and a memorable ending. They couldn't agree on a beginning, there was no middle way for either of them, and they would not accept an end. Theirs was a story they would rather keep to their longing fingers and their craving mouths.
> 
> Third entry: The snow her body melts

There was a horrible headache reigning over his senses and the never-ending conflicts were not making it any better. The quarrels between the mages and the Templars stationed in Haven were growing and clearly getting out of control. And the man in front of him was not only aware of it but also doing his best to keep the hateful fire ignited. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle but he was growing tired and impatient. He wasn't ungrateful for the aid that Mother Giselle has brought, but it wasn't enough; being still left in the dark, with more questions than answers and with a black mark still above the name of the Inquisition was affecting everyone. Fighting against the wind was not a long-term solution. 

He had barely cleared the gathered crowd from the gates of the chantry but Chancellor Roderick was determined to trample on his nerves further. Trying to channel out whatever the old man was about, Cullen looked past his shoulder, at the retreating men. Without control his body instantly tensed into a straighter position as he recognized the figure of the herald making her way up the hill through a group of mages. The party had returned from the Hinterlands some days ago with a plan. It was a weak plan and it had to be carefully thought out– going to Val Royeaux so soon for a direct confrontation with the Chantry was risky but what other choice did they have? He was never a man for details but it occurred to him that she was changing more and more each time they met. It was clear as day that Haven was not the sort of place where she belonged; she didn't have to put it into words for everyone to see that she did not enjoy being there; the Breach had affected and changed everyone, without a single exception. He caught himself wondering what the woman was like before all this. It was the first moment in the weeks since she was spit out by the Fade that he realized he was having expectations from her without even knowing her first name. 

The way she carried her body towards the chantry reminded him of the fact that she was of noble birth. Her usual commonly braided hair was now loose from the bun and cascading in a free tail past her shoulders, the dark chestnut color contrasting on the white hunter tailcoat she was wearing. With matching elbow-lenght gloves and boots, she seemed to have made some personal requests with the nugskin they had brought from the Hinterlands. Even though white was an appropriate color for Haven, it was… pretentious. 

She raised her eyes and met his only to make him realize he had been staring at her all this time. Slowly, the Chancellor’s voice was slipping back to his ears and Cullen tried his best to catch up with the man’s complaints. He kept checking on the approaching woman wondering if she was going to stop or continue her way past them. Her eyes rested on the back of the Chancellor and only momentarily switched to him as she was determined to ignore the scene.

“Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order.” Cullen barely stopped from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He didn't like the man but he found himself asking if he had always been this irritating. He had never found it relevant enough to confront Roderick whenever he was barking at him but he felt an uncomfortable need to make use of his authority. 

“Who, you? Random clerics who weren't important enough to be at the conclave?”

His eyes lingered a moment too long on the leathered shoulder of the woman, and the melting drops of snow tangled in her long hair. He would not look far up, only following the line of her sharp jaw as she stepped right past him.

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called “Herald of Andraste”? I think not.”

He knew that in a second she would completely disappear from his line of view but it never happened. She stopped almost behind him and he had to look past his shoulder in order to acknowledge her presence when she addressed him in a slightly bored voice.

“Remind me why you’re still keeping him around?”

“Clearly your _Templar_ knows where to draw the line.”

That put an unexplainable knot in his throat that she doubled by fully turning and stepping by his side, joining in the conversation. He decided to return his attention to the other man.

“He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.”

There was an unbecoming silence in which the woman refused to look anywhere else than deep into the Chancellor’s soul, leaving the man prey to uncertainty. Cullen knew exactly how he must have felt. Suddenly her relaxed body thrust forward without taking a single step and a low growl escaped her throat, showing her teeth like a wild predator. Startled by the display, the Chancellor jumped back almost bringing his arms up for protection. But as quick as it started she pulled back, everything returning to normal, with only the man making a fool of himself. He continued to step backwards while trying to wash away the shame. 

“Mock if you will. I’m certain the Maker is less amused.”

Cullen watched the retreating man, a bit taken aback as well by the sudden act.

“What was that?”

“Just wanted to make him squeal.” With a wide grin on her face, she looked at him. Being so close, he realized that she was a tall woman; he was used to lowering his eyes in order to address both Josephine and Leliana; and even Cassandra who seemed like a mountain when he was talking to her, was also of a shorter height. His insides slightly turned when his mind traveled to his former Knight-Commander Meredith. He immediately wanted to erase the thought. There was no likeliness between the two, chromatically opposed and yet… it was too late. There was a cold and calculated power in their eyes and it was revoltingly easy for him to read it when she was on the same level with him. “Didn't think it was so easy.”

At least this woman in front of him hated Templars and clearly didn't have a motive strong enough to represent anything Holy, so he should relax and think no more of such resemblances.

He must have been too lost in his thoughts because the woman frowned. She sighed and stepped back, remembering that she had business somewhere else. 

“Does The Order also kill one's sense of humour or is it just a special feature of yours?”

He realized how he must have looked but he couldn't find it in himself to be bothered by it. The Chancellor had already drained his desire for human interactions for the day. She indicated that she wanted him to follow her inside the chantry. 

“Does it really bother you that I was a Templar?” Out of courtesy he stepped ahead, with the intentions of opening the door.

“What do you mean?” her question showed him that she had little to no investment in the topic.

“I noticed that you only stepped in after he mentioned my affiliations to the order.” 

She stopped and waited for him to push the door. When she looked up he knew she was going to spill out her thoughts but then something changed. Whatever she wanted to say it was not going to escape her lips anymore, and was replaced by a coy, prying attitude.

“I just thought that I should get him off _my_ Templar.”

Her empty sentence reached his ears and she slipped inside the chantry, not really meaning anything by it besides ending the conversation. He hadn't even paid attention to Roderick’s words until she had twisted them in an unsettling way. 

After the meeting was over, the party immediately left Haven in order to avoid camping in the wilds. Only hours later did he realize that his headaches had been quiet, when they crept their way back for the rest of the day.


End file.
